Cars: Two of a Kind
by xXBlack'BladeXx
Summary: Zayne Plummer never thought anyone would ever care about her. But that was all about to change... Set before the events of Cars. Humanized.
1. Prologue

Prologue

They say it takes a town to raise a child. In my experience, this could not be more true, but they forgot to mention one detail. It takes a town to raise a child, yes, but it also takes the sincere and undying love of a caring and devoted person to make it mean anything.

In my case, I got lucky. That's saying a lot, because I have never considered myself a lucky person. I'm about as unlucky as they come… or was, I guess I should say. Ever since I came here my luck seems to have improved, and ever since I met them━met _**him**_━I haven't felt so alone either. I've never felt so loved in my life.

But hold on━I'm getting ahead of myself. _**Way**_ ahead. So let me back up here. Let me take you back to the beginning; back to that day in early June when fate intervened and my entire life changed forever.

* * *

I sat in a chair at the police station, nervously twiddling my thumbs in silence. My emerald green eyes flickered around the room. I didn't really like police. Oh, don't get me wrong, I respected them and what they do, they just scared and intimidated me. And with good reason. Every time I'd encountered law-enforcement officers it hadn't exactly been on good terms━not that _**I**_ was ever the one who was in trouble. It was always my mom. My mom…. My eyes slowly slid over to take the woman in question into my wary gaze.

Sitting there in the chair next to me texting, Heather Richards was a twenty-five-year old woman who wore clothes that were a bit too small to be worn by someone who had gained some fifteen to twenty pounds since they'd graduated from high school. "Graduated" is a relative term, actually. It was more like she got her GED near the end of her senior year and _**then**_ dropped out. Not that it was exactly easy, being a foster kid, having a baby in junior high, and trying to raise it on your own, I'm not implying that at all. But still, the woman hadn't even made an effort to try. And it wasn't like she was spending valuable hours of study-time looking after her child either. As soon as I'd reached the age where I was old enough to somewhat fend for myself, I'd basically been neglected.

Actually to tell you the truth I was━and still am━amazed that I'd made it to the age of twelve. I mean, considering all the times I'd had to go hungry as a kid… or been left at some sort of shopping center… or been in the car while her mother drove under the influence, it was pretty amazing. As far as most things went, I used the term "mother" loosely when applying it to Heather. In fact, I barely ever referred to the woman as "mom"; it was always "Heather" or, if I really wanted to get her undivided attention, "woman". Sad as it was, it made sense, since my mom never acted like a mom. I'd come to accept this fact a long time ago, but still, there was a little part of me that couldn't help but sometimes wish that my mother could actually act like a loving, devoted, and caring parent. All I wanted, for as long as I could remember, was for somebody to confide in or hold me when I cried or comfort me when I was scared. Was that too much to ask? Yet again, I'd come to the conclusion that it was. Nobody cared about me, and that was the cold hard truth, as I saw it.

Sighing heavily, I drew my eyes away from Heather and let them fall to the floor. Absentmindedly, I quit twiddling my thumbs and took up picking at a hole in one of the knees of my yellow leggings. I was in much need of new ones. These I'd had since I was ten, and, consequently, they almost looked like they'd been through World War II. The leggings were so sheer from being washed and worn so much that you could just about see through the fabric, which had faded from the bright canary yellow they'd been when I first got them to a dull, pale, almost cream color. Not to mention the fact that they boasted numerous holes. It was to the point that I could no longer simply just wear the leggings; I had to wear shorts over the top. That wasn't a big problem though━I'd always worn them that way.

The orange t-shirt I was wearing was awfully ratty and faded as well, and my green high-tops (yeah, that's right. I wear orange, yellow, and green together in one outfit. What of it? XP) had definitely seen better days. I had other clothes, yes, but the truth was that they were all in almost as bad of shape as the articles of clothing that I currently wore. Long story short, I was in desperate need of a new wardrobe altogether. But, of course, that would never happen. Not with the way Heather used all the welfare money to pamper herself without any thought of her daughter.

" _But that's the thing_," I thought to myself as I slumped back in the chair. " _I'm not her daughter_; _I'm a burden and a liability. I gotta remember that._" I tried not to think about all the times Heather had called me by those exact words. Granted, at the time she'd been drunk or high, but it had still hurt. And yet, I somehow still found it in my heart to love my mother. She had given me life after all, and she had kept and raised me… though it probably would've been better for both our parties if she hadn't. I tried to think of what my life would have been if Heather had given me up for adoption. My life would've no doubt been better than what it was, no question, but what would it have been like? Would I have had a family who loved me? A mom who would actually nurture me and put me first? A dad who would embrace me and protect me and tell me how much he loved me every day?

In truth, that was what I really wanted: a father. I never knew my own, just that his name was Darryl Plummer, he was Heather's deadbeat and much older boyfriend in junior high, and he'd taken off right after Heather had told him she was pregnant and that was the last anyone had seen of him. I guess I'm lucky in knowing that much about him. Most kids in my kind of situations know diddly squat about their fathers and wish they had the chance to meet them because of it. I don't and never have wanted anything to do with my dad. I mean afterall he had abandoned Heather and me, and, as I've stated already, from what little I know of him, he was a real deadbeat. I'm just happy I don't look like him! The only thing I share with my father are my eyes: deep-set and emerald green with long eyelashes. I guess I can thank Darryl for that; my eyes are the only thing about myself that I like.

Other than that, I look more like Heather. I have her paler skin, full lips, rounder face, and unruly brown hair with natural blonde and auburn highlights. I have Heather's slender, athletic build too. At least, I _**think**_ I got that from her. I don't really know. It's kind of hard to tell because the woman wasn't slender _**or**_ athletic when I knew her, but judging from the pictures of her younger days, I think I can safely say that she had been at one time.

Anyway, I was still wondering about what my life would've been like if I'd been adopted when a sudden voice jolted me back to reality.

" Zayne Plummer?"

Startled, I looked up to meet the friendly but still stern face of a male NYPD detective. He was Caucasian, must've been in his late thirties, was about six-feet tall, had black hair, gray eyes, and was dressed in a suit. I caught the gold glint of his badge as it hung on his belt.

" Are you Zayne Plummer?" the man questioned again. His voice was soothing, but still held enough authority in it to show he meant business.

I wordlessly nodded. Heather, on the other hand, continued to text on her iPhone, not the least bit concerned about what was going on.

" My name's Detective Clark Simmons," the man introduced himself, quickly examining the both of us. I saw him give a small shake of his head and his mouth slightly twisted in disgust as he looked at Heather. I knew what he was thinking: " _This woman is hardly mother material._" I couldn't have agreed with him more. " We're ready for you to come view the line-up."

Oh, did I happen to mention that the reason I was at the police station was because I'd witnessed the murder of my best friend and her family? Well, I guess I hadn't seen the _**actual**_ murder, but I'd walked into their house after it and had seen the scene. That'll give a twelve-year-old nightmares, let me tell you! So since I was the only witness who had seen the murderer and could identify him, it was up to me to pick him out of the line-up. I have to admit, it made me feel both proud and horribly terrified at the same time.

Unable to find my voice (as we typical when I was around policemen), I simply nodded once more.

" Are you ready?" Detective Clark questioned me, voice and eyes filled with concern.

I only nodded and stood.

The detective looked at Heather. " You wanna come in the room, ma'am," he asked, but I already knew what her answer would be.

" Nah, she's got it. I'm not stickin' my neck out so's some axe murderer can lop my head off too," Heather's heavily New York accented voice proclaimed. She still didn't look up from her phone.

" Nice try," I murmured to the man. " Thanks." I followed him off down the hall towards the viewing room.

" Charming woman, your mom," Detective Clark snorted sardonically.

" You don't hafta live with her," I replied back. Even though I had been born and raised in New York, I somehow didn't have as heavy an accent as Heather. It was there, all right, just not so prominent.

My guide was quiet for a moment before finally replying to my comment. " Does she… hurt you?" his voice just as concerned as before but softer.

Without even looking up, I snorted cynically, even though I didn't smile. " Hurt me? Nah, she would never hurt me. Hurting me would require giving me attention and spending time with me━time that's more valuable spent drinking herself into oblivion and acquiring lung cancer. As Heather would say, and I quote: 'Ain't nobody got time for that.'"

Detective Clark became graveyard silent. I'd assumed him to have something to say about my statement, but I guess he didn't want to prod too much and upset me. That, or he was completely shocked speechless by how easily and expressionlessly I'd confessed the information. Either way, that was the last thing to be said between the two of us as we continued on down the hall towards the viewing room.

When we finally came to our destination, Detective Clark opened the door to our right and ushered me into the room. The viewing room was small and dark, the only light shining from the one-way window that viewed out into the line-up room. There were two other men in the room with Detective Clark and me. One was a Hispanic cop in uniform, and the other was an Asian guy who was dressed in a suit and tie━I could only guess he was the prosecuting attorney in this case.

" Okay, kid," Detective Clark said as he stepped into the room and closed the door, " take a look at that line-up and tell us if you recognize anyone."

Wordlessly, I stepped up to the window, which was so high up I had to stand on my tip-toes to see through, and examined the line-up of some very scary and intimidating looking men. It only took me a few seconds to find the culprit. " Him," I pointed at the guy farthest to the second in from the right. " Number five: that's him. That's the murderer."

" You sure?" the Mexican cop asked.

" Yep," I quickly answered. " I'd know that meth-head anywhere." I can't say for positive if the guy was actually on meth, but he certainly looked like it, and chances are when people really look like they're on meth, they usually are.

Detective Clark picked up one of those CB microphone things and spoke into it. " Number five, step forward please."

For a split second, the guy looked like he'd just seen a ghost, but soon that was gone and he was rushing forward towards the glass and slammed against it. It was a good thing that thing was plexiglass, or else he probably would've broken through. He glared into the one-way-mirror, and even though I knew he couldn't see me, I knew he knew I was there. I knew he was glowering at me. I instinctively backed away from the window until my backside met the opposing wall and sank down to the floor. This guy scared me. Big time.

" You think I don't know it's you back there, brat?!" Meth-head, as I will call him by here on out, raged. " You think I don't know that it's you who's doin' me in?! Huh?! Well, I got news for you! I'm gonna get outta here, and when I do, I'm comin' after you. You better start watchin' your back, you little *****, 'cuz I'll stab a knife through it! I'll get you for this, kid! I'll get you and slit your mother-****in' throat! I'll kill you! I'll kill you!" Suddenly two cops were in the room, grabbing at him and hauling him away from the window, but I could still hear him screaming threats and obscenities at me. I could still hear him even when they'd dragged him out of the room.


	2. The News

**I, unfortunately, do not own Cars. I only own my OC and any other character you might not recognize. Any resemblance of persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and THIS DOES NOT REFLECT MY LIFE IN ANYWAY POSSIBLE. I have a really good life with loving parents and family members whom I love to death in return. Set ups like these just always seem to make for better stories. XD**

* * *

" Caution. You are about enter the 'No-Spin Zone'..." Bill O'Reilly of the_ O'Reilly Factor_

1

The News

Next Day in Radiator Springs:

Sheriff sat down at the desk in his office with a cup of coffee and a chocolate glazed bear-claw and got ready to begin his day. Even though there was hardly any crime in this small Arizonan town—save for the few times those Delinquent Road Hazards hooligans showed up in town and filled his cells for a couple nights—there was still somehow always a ton of paper and file work to do. Taking a sip of his coffee, Sheriff reached out to grab one of the files and began to read through it, deciding what had to stay and what could go. Suddenly his phone rang. Looking up over the brim of his coffee cup—which he had just been about to take a sip of again—balding law-enforcement officer glared and the offending beige device, daring it to ring again. It dared. Groaning, Sheriff set down the coffee cup and reached for the phone. He put the receiver to his ear. " Radiator Springs Law Enforcement Office, Sheriff speaking."

" _**Hey there, Sheriff**_," a man's voice replied from the other end.

Sheriff immediately recognized that voice. " Clark Simmons?" he laughed in disbelief. " What're you doin' phonin' me up this time of the mornin'? You know this is my coffee time." Detective Clark Simmons had been the deputy below Sheriff in his younger days when he was fresh from the Academy. Then he'd moved on to do big city work.

" _**Because when I was your deputy I had to spend half my morning running back and forth between your office and Flo's diner, continuously fixing the coffee until it was just the way you wanted it**_," Clark answered. " _**So now, it's a pleasure interrupting it.**_"

" Smart mouth," Sheriff snarled though there was a smirk pulling at his lips. Clark had been—and still very much was—like a son to him.

" _**Old geezer**_," Clark growled right back, but there was a smile in his voice as well.

" So why'd ya call me up, son?" Sheriff finally got around to the question. " Big city crime anything like you thought it'd be?"

" _**More so**_," came Simmons' reply. There was a pause on Clark's end for several minutes before he finally cleared his throat. " _**Actually, Sheriff**_," he sighed, " _**New York crime is why I'm callin' ya.**_"

Sheriff immediately sat up straight. He knew that tone, and he knew his friend had to have something important to tell him. " What is it, Clark?"

There was another long-suffering sigh. " _**Sheriff I need to ask a favor.**_"

" What is it?"

" _**Well, ya see, it's like this. I got this big homicide case, and we got the guy who did it locked up and everything, but as pathetic looking as he is, he's got a grudge to settle, and that wisens up the most hardcore meth-heads.**_"

" You got a witness against him," Sheriff concluded. " And your scared he'll break out of custody and go after 'em."

" _**Name's Zayne Plummer. She's twelve.**_"

" You wanna put her in witness protection."

" _**'Bout sums it up.**_"

" You think the best place to send her would be here."

" _**Ya know, the way you read minds is just plain freaky.**_"

Sheriff chuckled. " Just outta curiosity, why Radiator Springs?"

" _**It's far away from New York, it's small, basically unknown, and one of the friendliest places ever.**_" There was a wry scoff from Clark's end. " _**Trust me, this kid needs all the friendliness and care she can get.**_"

" Bad home-life?"

" _**The girl's mother's a bimbo—and that's putting it nicely**_," the Detective responded. " _**She had the girl when she was thirteen and decided to keep her and try and raise her herself. Not that I can understand why. From the way Zayne talked about how she's been raised, I was amazed she'd lived to her twelfth year.**_"

Sheriff felt a wave of sorrow go through his heart. " That bad, huh?"

" _**One look at this woman, and you can tell she's not mother material and doesn't even try to be.**_"

The old law-enforcement officer nodded. He was quiet for a minute, letting all the information sink into his old, but still spry mind.

" _**So wha'd'ya think, Sheriff?**_" the Detective's voice finally returned after a moment. " _**Can ya do me this favor?**_"

Sheriff released a long exhale and nodded. " Be happy to," he answered genuinely. Then an idea suddenly popped into his head. " In fact..." he began slowly, still thinking over said idea, "... I think I got the perfect place for her to stay."

Suddenly the door burst wide open, hitting the wall with a resounding _**bang!**_ Jumping a mile out of his seat, Sheriff whipped around—receiver still in hand—to see a tall, lean man standing in the door way. He was somewhere in his thirties and dressed in a pair of greasy, tattered overalls with a pair of greasy gloves hanging out of one of the pockets, a sleeveless plaid shirt that didn't look much better than the overalls, old, scuffed-up work boots, and a faded, dirty, and sweaty green baseball cap with words on it that were no longer legible. Beneath the cap was a shaggy mullet **[A/N don't worry, his hairstyle will change!]** of rusty-red hair. The man also possessed cheerful hazel eyes, a slightly ruddy complexion, and one of the friendliest grins you'd ever see that sported a pair of buck-teeth. Yup, you guessed it: Mater. " Hey dere, Sh'r'ff!" he boomed in his twangy voice. " Ah done did fixed that carburetor in yer car lahke ya as'ed me to." **[A/N I know that in the movie, Mater was just a tow truck and all he did was tow cars, not fix them, but since this is humanized, and Doc wouldn't fix motors and stuff because... well, he has **_human___**patients now, it makes sense for Mater to be the mechanic as well as the tow truck business in Radiator Springs. Besides, the dude's seriously car savvy!]**

" Mater!" Sheriff fumed, pulling the receiver away from his mouth, but not bothering to cover up the transmitting end. " How many times do I gotta tell you not to come bargin' in like that?! I'm on the dad-burn phone!"

Mater's eyes widened. " Oh, rahght." Then he slightly shrunk down in shame like a scolded pup. " Sorry, Sh'r'ff."

Sighing heavily, Sheriff put the phone back to his ear. " Sorry 'bout that, kid," he apologized.

Clark just laughed. " _**Is that Mater?**_" he chuckled.

" Yeah, it's Mater," Sheriff assured him.

" _**Well put the man on so's I can talk to him!**_"

With another long suffering sigh, Sheriff extended the phone receiver to a still sulking Mater. " Here," he said. " Take it."

Perking up, Mater looked at the phone and then back at the law-enforcment officer with a quizzical face. " Who dat?" he questioned.

" Clark Simmons," Sheriff answered.

" Shoot!" Mater exclaimed. " Clark Simmons, da guy who use' ta be yer dep'ty?"

" Is there any _**other**_ Clark Simmons who'd be calling here?" Sheriff demanded, a little bit annoyed. That's what being interrupted in the middle of a morning cup of coffee did to him.

Not replying, in fact not really even hearing Sheriff, the tow truck driver snatched up the receiver and put it to his year. " Clark, dat you?"

" _**Mater!**_" Clark laughed on his end. " _**How's things goin', ya crazy hillbilly? You still drivin' the tow truck and workin' the garage out there?**_"

" Sure is!" Mater chirped. " Ah hear you done got yerself pre-moted to one a dem dere fancy New York City Detective jobs."

" _**Then you heard right.**_"

It was then that Sheriff decided to leave the office for a few minutes. He could trust Mater not to do anything, and he knew the tow truck driver could keep Clark talking for more than an hour, updating him on everything that had happened since the young cop had left. Besides he had to go visit with somebody that was concerned in this idea of his. So Sheriff exited the office and headed in the direction of the Ornament Valley Medical Clinic. Soon he was walking through doors and into the lobby. He looked around the deserted reception area. Either Doc hadn't yet made his way from his house right next door to the clinic yet or else he was in the back. Sheriff chose the latter. Walking to the swing doors, he pushed them open and let himself in the back, all the while calling out, " Doc?"

" Yeah?" a gruff voice with a country accent replied. Sure enough, a man of about forty-eight **[A/N I had to change Doc's age to make this story work, but I still had to make him old enough to work with ideas for other stories later.]**, nearly six feet in height, and dressed in a pair of blue jeans, dark brown cowboy boots, and a stark white lab coat over a blue flannel shirt with a stethoscope draped around his neck stepped out of one of the rooms. He had thick black hair that was slightly curly and graying at the temples, crystal blue eyes, and a salt-and-pepper beard and mustache that were neatly kept: Doc Hudson.** [A/N I kinda sorta imagine Doc to look like a younger version of Kris Kristofferson.] **

Doc gave the law-enforcement officer a friendly smile. " What brings ya in, Sheriff?" he questioned. " Knee buggin' ya?"

" Nope," Sheriff replied, though he absentmindedly reached down and rubbed the side of his right knee. He'd busted it by slipping on some mud while chasing the DRH boys on foot over five years ago and it still gave him fits every once in a while. " Too dry a weather for it to be buggin' me yet."

Doc nodded while agreeing with a hum. " So what brings ya here then?" he repeated.

Sheriff shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. He wasn't exactly sure how to say this. " Well," he began, clearing his throat, " ya see, Doc... Clark Simmons called me."

" Clark Simmons?" Doc questioned and then laughed good-naturedly. He remembered the young deputy. " How's that kid doin' up in New York?"

" Good," Sheriff answered simply. " He's doin' good. He, um," Sheriff cleared his throat again, " he called to ask if I could do him a favor." He met his friend's eyes.

Uh-oh. Doc knew that look. " Must be a big favor, I take it?" he asked.

Sheriff simply nodded.

" What about?"

" He's got this murder case and they've already nabbed the guy and got him in custody, but he's a slippery one with a score to settle. Clark's afraid he'll find a way outta prison and go after his witness."

" Witness protection then?"

" Ye-up."

" What's that gotta do with you?"

" Well, he thinks that the best place for her to be would be here. It's far away from New York and basically unknown, so he thinks she'd be safest here. I don't disagree with him."

" Can't say as I do either. Clark's usually got pretty good judgment for these things."

Sheriff nodded again.

" What's her name?"

" Zayne Plummer. She's twelve-years-old."

Doc closed his eyes and sighed heavily, cursing under his breath as he did. " Twelve-years-old and already a witness for a murder," he mused sorrowfully. " Poor kid."

" Tell me about it," Sheriff replied. " But from what I hear, this girl's tough. She's had to be her whole life. Doesn't sound like her mama thinks much of her at all."

" Hard-luck case, huh?" Doc concluded.

" That's another reason why Clark wants to send her here," Sheriff nodded. " Figures this little girl could use some TLC—somebody to show her that adults ain't all bad."

Doc nodded with a slight smile as he proclaimed, " Well, I definitely think the folks here can show her that." Then a pondering expression came over his features and the doctor slightly tilted his head to one side in a questioning way. " But what's all this go to do with me?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Sheriff looked even more uncomfortable now. He shifted his weight again and scuffed a boot against the floor and he cleared his throat several times. Taking off his hat, he scratched the bald spot at the top of his head and then replaced the hat. Then he smoothed his gray mustache. " Well," he began, clearing his throat again, " ya see, Doc, I've kinda decided that the one who should host her is you."

Doc froze and the whole world froze with him. Him? Host a kid? A twelve-year-old girl from New York with a troubled past that he knew absolutely nothing about who had seen a murder scene? What the Sam heck had Sheriff been thinking?! It was one thing to have the kid just in town, but have her living in the same house with him? That was insane! It wasn't that Doc didn't like children—he got along with kids just fine—but twelve-year-old's were just starting to hit that point in their lives where all those godawful hormones would begin to kick in and run wild; girls especially. And that was just a _**normal**_ twelve-year-old girl! It had to be ten times worse with one that had had a bad home-life and been scarred from a young age. She would have a chip on her shoulder; would be angry at the world. Along with that, she'd probably have nightmares from what she'd witnessed, and bad ones at that. The medical practitioner wasn't so sure he was ready to put up with all that. He wasn't even sure if he could! " Come again?"

" I've decided that the kid'll stay with you while she's here."

" You're jokin', right?"

His friend just shook his head.

Then Doc started to really panic. " Why me?!" he demanded, throwing his arms off to the side.

Sheriff started counting off reasons on his fingers. " One: I'm too busy to keep an eye on her. Two: Mater isn't qualified to look after a child for an indeterminate amount of time; he's still somewhat of a child himself sometimes **[A/N sorry Mater and Mater fans, but it's kinda true '-_-]**. Three: Red's too shy. Four: Lizzie's too old. And five: well, nobody else around here needs it as bad as you do, Doc."

Doc gave the officer a skeptical look. " I need a kid?" he questioned, disbelievingly.

" Yes," his old friend answered simply.

The physician snorted. " Come on, Sheriff!" he laughed.

" Laugh all you want to, Doc, but you do," Sheriff stated firmly, refusing to be shaken. " It's no secret that you're lonely. And even though you won't say it, everybody can see that there's somethin' from your past that's eatin' at ya that you won't talk about." He met his friend's gaze again. " Don't try denyin' it, you know it's true."

Doc held the law-enforcement officer's unwavering eyes with his just-as-stubborn ones. Everything Sheriff had said was true. He _**was**_ lonely. Even with all his friends here in Radiator Springs, something just felt like it was missing. And even though he'd never admit it, his past did haunt him every day. Of course none of the townsfolk knew that over two decades ago, when he had been in his prime, he was the racer known as the Fabulous Hudson Hornet. They didn't know he'd been famous. They didn't know about his crash. And they didn't know the toll all of it had taken on him: the horror of the crash, the long, hard recovery, the expectancy of being welcomed back into the racing world with open arms, and the torturous heart-break of all his aspirations and dreams being ripped out from under him in one fell swoop. As far as he was concerned, they would never know. No one would ever know. He'd never expect any of them to believe him anyway. Still, even if everything that Sheriff had said was true (it was seriously, insanely creepy how Sheriff could just read people's minds like that!) what would bringing a kid into the picture do? How would it help him? How could a kid that was just as broken and alone as he was help him? In that respect, how could he help her? Doc turned away and began to recede back into the room he'd come out of. " I don't want a kid to worry 'bout, Sheriff," he announced. " Put her with Sally or Flo and Ramone." Sheriff's reply caught him off guard.

" No," his friend replied, voice rough and hard. " I've already made the decision. Zayne stays with you while she's here, and that's final." He also turned to leave and then paused right as he was about to exit the hall. " I suggest you get used to the idea, old friend." And with that he left the physician to wonder and worry and gripe all by his lonesome.


	3. The Meeting

**Thanks to those who have favorited, followed and reviewed this. I'm so sorry I didn't update sooner, life and my other fanfics sorta got in the way. Hopefully this chapter makes up for it. :)**

** BTW, I'm sorta sick, so please give me a little pick-me-up by leaving reviews. I'd really appreciate it. :)**

** I, unfortunately, do not own Cars. I only own my OC and any other character you might not recognize. Any resemblance of persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and THIS DOES NOT REFLECT MY LIFE IN ANYWAY POSSIBLE. I have a really good life with loving parents and family members whom I love to death in return. Set ups like these just always seem to make for better stories. XD**

* * *

" I've heard it said... that people come into our lives for a reason... bringing something we must learn. And we are led to those... who help us most to grow, if we let them. And we help them in return..." Wicked;_ For Good_

2

The Meeting

Two Days Later;

" _**If**____**everyone would please buckle their seat-belts,**_" the pilot's voice came on over the intercom on the jet, " _**we are beginning out descent at the Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport.**_"

" Thank God," the sigh escaped me before I could stop it.

Beside me, Detective Simmons—who had stayed by my side practically ever since I'd identified Meth-head—chuckled. Looking up from his writing (I'm guessing it was a police report or something), he smirked at me. " What's wrong, Ms. Plummer?" he teased me playfully. " Not a big fan of flying?"

I shook my head, not even bothering to snap back at him, even though I hated being teased. " I don't like the idea of being miles up in the air in a giant metal contraption that ways several _**tons**_ that, by all rights, shouldn't be flying at all. No, I like my feet on the ground." I then quickly began to buckle up in an attempt to avoid having one of the flight attendants come over and talk to me. In all honesty, they sorta freaked me out. I mean, seriously! What human being can smile like that and be that friendly all the time? Successful in my mission, I sat back in my seat and tried to keep my mind off the fact that we were going down. Of course I knew it was perfectly safe—this was a normal occurrence—but the instinctive part of my just didn't like the sound of the engine as the jet began to descend. The pressure on my eardrums didn't help much either.

Detective Simmons must have noticed my discomfort, because he offered me some gum. " Chew on it," he informed me when I gave him a quizzical look. " It helps to relieve the pressure."

I gratefully took a piece, popped it into my mouth, and began to furiously chew at it. Huh, what'd'ya know? It _**did**_ work. Still gnawing at the gum, I turned back to the Detective. For a minute or two I examined him as he began to pack up all the papers and stuff that he had been writing with, and then I asked, " So, where exactly are you taking me?"

Still tucking papers and pens inside his briefcase, the man answered, " Arizona."

I snorted. " Well, duh. That's just why we're at the Pheonix-Mesa Gateway Airport."

Detective Simmons chuckled and closed the briefcase before situating it in his lap. " To a little place called Radiator Springs." He looked down at me with a friendly smile. " It's where I first began work in the law-enforcement business. At that time I was acting deputy to the sheriff of the town."

" Hmm... Radiator Springs," I repeated the name and thought over it, trying to place it in my mind. " Never heard of it."

" As I would suspect," Detective Simmons replied with a nod. " It's a real small town hidden and off the interstate. Back in the day, before the interstate got put in, it was a booming place full of people and shops and stores. Now, it's basically unknown."

" And I'll be safe there?"

" Safer than if I sent you to Mars to get you away from this guy—and only because here you won't be alone and will be able to breathe."

I laughed at the joke and nodded, thinking that over. I still wasn't completely sure about this whole idea, but Detective Simmons had been nicer to me than anyone else in my entire life. I trusted him enough to believe him, and if he thought this town was a good place, then I was willing to give it a shot. Sighing I settled back in my seat again and closed my eyes. The pressure was back in my ears again and I chewed on the gum with renewed vigor to try and relieve it. Oh, man, I hated flying!

* * *

Doc and Sheriff stood in the pick-up area as the Phoenix-Mesa Gateway Airport in silence. Sheriff was leaning against the wall casually, chewing on a toothpick. Doc on the other hand was fidgeting, pacing back and forth, running his hands through his hair, and continuously shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans and pulling them back out again to run them through his hair. It goes without say that he was nervous.

Sheriff watched as his old friend 'freaked out' as the younger generations put it. He couldn't help but chuckle to himself. It was rather fun to take Doc out of his element and make him uncomfortable, he couldn't lie. Doc was too comfortable and sure of himself far too often for any normal human being. He had to get knocked down a peg or two sometimes. " Calm down, Doc," he said after a moment, knowing he'd get the younger man's goat that way. " Settle down—relax."

Doc whirled around to face the officer with a glare that was both of anger and slight panic. " Relax? Relax? You're tellin' me to relax?! I wouldn't even _**be**_ like this if you hadn'ta stuck me with the kid! _**This**_ is all your _**fault**_, Sheriff!" He immediately went back to pacing.

" So what's the big deal?" Sheriff questioned. " She's just a kid, Doc."

" No, she's a twelve-year-old girl," Doc corrected him.

" So what? What's the difference?"

" You know the difference!" Doc exclaimed, causing everybody else in the air to glare as and/or hush him. The man gave an apologetic look to them, then turned back to his friend. " You know the difference," he repeated, quieter now. " She's hittin' the teenage years, now."

" So?"

" So?! I'd rather be takin' on a six-month-old baby that this! Can't you just imagine the fights? The attitude? The back-talk? And that's just from your average kid her age. This girl's got a bad background—it's gonna be worse!"

" Doc, you can't be sure it'll be that bad."

" You can't be sure it'll be good, either, so apparently we're both speculating." With that Doc sighed and leaned against the wall beside his friend. " I still think I'm right, by the way," he proclaimed, stabbing a thumb in his chest.

" Yeah, you usually do," Sheriff muttered under his breath.

" What was that?" Doc demanded, giving him a 'raised-eyebrow' look.

Sheriff sighed and put a friendly hand on the medical practitioner's shoulder. " Look, Doc," he sighed, meeting his gaze, " Zayne's just a little girl, who's gotta be even more nervous than you. I mean, think about it. She's seen a murder scene, been threatened by the man who committed the crime, and now she's in the witness protection program and is flying out from New York from the only home she's ever known to some little PO-dunk town in Arizona that she's never even heard of where she's gotta live with strangers for only God knows how long. On top of that, she's got a mama who doesn't give her a second thought about her and probably won't think much more of her when she does get to go back home. Now, when you can beat that you have permission to panic. Until then, suck it up and lump it. Just take her in, take care of her, get to know her. Who knows? You might even end up makin' friends with her."

Doc gave him a skeptical look. " Somehow, I think having a middle-aged man for a friend is the farthest thing from this kid's mind. In fact, it may even been considered 'creepy' in her eyes, just like it is to most every other pre-teen in the U.S."

Sheriff just shrugged and turned his attention towards the direction where people were starting to come of the plane that had just landed—the plane they'd been waiting for. " Ya never know. Maybe she's different in that aspect."

Doc just snorted. He highly doubted that scenario.

A few more minutes past before Sheriff finally caught sight of a familiar face in the sea of people that were swarming off the plane. Grinning, the man pushed himself off the wall, saying " That's Clark." He waved to get the young Detective's detention while calling out his name.

Hearing his name, Clark turned to look and, after a few minutes of searching, grinned and waved back. Then he began fording the wave of bodies to come in their direction.

Doc stepped forward and grinned as well; it was nice to see the young man again.

Still grinning, when he reached his old friends, Clark shook their hands and shared a bro-hug with both his old senior officer and the doctor. " It's great to see you guys again," he said with a laugh.

" You too, son," Sheriff replied.

" Been a while since you visited Radiator Springs," Doc cut in.

Clark nodded. " Yeah, well, you know police work—always keeps ya on your toes. And the big city takes it to a whole other level." Then Clark turned to look behind him. " Speakin' of police work..." He slightly shifted off to the side and put his hand on the slim shoulder of the small girl who was standing beside him, looking bored and indifferent.

Doc slightly quirked an eyebrow as he examined the girl. She was only maybe about five feet in height with a slim, athletic build and pale skin—not sickly pale, mind you, just rather light in color. Her thick mop of hair had a side-part, swept down passed her shoulders, and was dark chesnut with lighter highlights of blonde and auburn and was rather unruly. Apparently she'd tried to tame her mane by pulling it back into a pony tail, but it hadn't really worked; there were still loose stands of it straggling around her face and down the back of her neck. Her eyes were a dark shade of green—or at least he thought they were. It was kind of hard to tell because they were hidden behind such long eyelashes. But what really grabbed Doc's attention was the twelve-year-old's attire. Faded, holey purple tights with a pair of ratty red athletic shorts over the top, a shabby black tanktop over a shabby lime green t-shirt, and a torn up pair of those cheap knock-off Uggs—isn't that what Sally and Flo said the brand was?—at her feet with rainbow striped knee-socks under them. One thing was for sure—this child certainly had her own sense of style.

Even with all attention diverted to her, the girl paid the men no heed. She continued to simply stand there, arms crossed over her chest with all her weight resting on her left leg, that hip cocked off to the side. Eyes half-lidded with boredom, she remained silent.

" Doc, Sheriff," Clark said, hand still on the girl's shoulder, " I'd like you to meet Zayne Plummer." Then he turned to Zayne and said , " These guys will make sure you're well looked after."

It was only then that Zayne looked out at them from beneath her lashes. She made a small, inert shrug. " Hi," she murmured emotionless.

" Well, hello there, Zayne," Sheriff greeted the girl with a friendly smile and a slight bow if his head. " I'm Sheriff, and this is Doc," he motioned to the younger man beside him. When Doc said and did nothing, Sheriff looked at him with a harsh gaze. " Say 'hello', Doc," the officer commanded his friend as though the practitioner were a small boy who needed to be told what to do.

Doc managed a small smile and responded, " Howdy." There was a definite lack of enthusiasm in his voice.

Sheriff and Clark looked between the man and the girl before exchanging a look. Well, the good news was that that wasn't a bad omen. But it certainly wasn't a good one either.

With a sigh, Zayne looked up at Clark. " So," she said, drawing his attention, " where exactly do I go to pick up my stuff?"

" Oh, right," Clark replied. Clearing his throat, the young Detective turned towards Doc. " Hey, Doc," he said, " would you help Zayne go pick up her luggage?"

With a shrug, the older man strode forward. " Sure," he sighed indifferently. " Come on, kid," he said as he walked past Zayne.

Turning on a heel, Zayne followed after him.

Clark and Sheriff watched as the two walked off together, and then, once they were out of earshot, they turned to each other again. " You sure you know what you're doin' here, Sheriff?" Clark questioned. " Puttin' her with Doc? I mean, I got nothing against the guy, but he's never exactly seemed like the type to be taking care of a kid."

Sheriff nodded in agreement. " I know what you're sayin', kid," he replied, " but trust me when I say I know what I'm doin'. There's more to Doc than meets the eye." Then the old law-enforcement officer sighed and looked back in the direction Doc and Zayne had disappeared. " Besides, he's the only option we got."

* * *

Doc led me through the terminal to the place where I could pick up my bags and I followed behind him in silence. Because I didn't want to get lost in the sea of people I stayed as close as I could to the man, but still far enough away so that he wouldn't think I was afraid of my surroundings, which I wasn't. At least, not really. It was my first time in an airport after all, so I had some leeway to be a little nervous. And besides, I wasn't really a big fan of strange people invading my personal space which _**every fricking person**_ that I passed was unintentionally doing.

" You still behind me, kid?" Doc called back over his shoulder, not even bothering to look back.

" Yeah," I answered as I tried to avoid touching people as they walked by. It was like a stinkin' maze in here!

Reassured that I was still tailing him, Doc went back to being silent and continued to lead me on to the baggage claim.

At last we reached out destination.

For several minutes we stood beside the conveyor belt, waiting for my suitcase to appear, and when it finally did, I pointed it out to him. " That's it, there," I said, pointing to the plain black case with a zipper.

With a nod, Doc reached out and grabbed it. He hoisted it up and onto his shoulder like it weighed nothing, and, considering all the crap I'd had to cram into the thing, I was rather impressed. I mean, this guy wasn't young by any means! Well, I guess he wasn't really that old either, but still! " All right then," he grunted as he adjusted his load and turned away from the claim, " let's go, kid."

I prickled a little bit. Not once had this dude called me by my actually name in the five to ten minutes since we'd met. It was starting to get annoying. " My name's not 'kid'," I snipped at him as I followed after him again. " It's 'Zayne'."

" Right—Zayne," Doc responded with half-interest. " My bad. Keep up, kid."

" _**Zayne**_," I quietly corrected through clenched teeth.

We finally made it back to where we'd left Sheriff and Detective Simmons and, after a quick check to make sure we had everything, began to make our way out of the building to the parking lot. Doc and Sheriff led us down the aisles of cars until we finally reached our ride. I cursed to myself. Wonderful—I had to ride for the next two hours in the back of a cop car. And to make matters even worse: a cop car that had been developed before air-conditioning!

Sheriff opened the trunk of his '49 Mercury, Doc stashed my suitcase inside, and then we all piled into the car. Sheriff and Detective Simmons got in the front. That, unfortunately, left me stuck in the back with Doc, and from the looks of it, he wasn't too happy about it either. For some reason, that fact sort of hurt my feelings, though I wasn't sure why. I stood there for a few moments more, trying to figure it out when all of a sudden I noticed Doc looking at me and holding the back passenger side door open for me. I stared at him, admittedly somewhat surprised. No one had ever done that for me before.

Doc tilted his head and gave me a look. " You comin' or what?" he questioned me, his gravelly voice gruff.

Shaking off my thoughts, I nodded and stepped forward. " Yeah," I replied.

" Well then get it, kid."

" It's '_**Zayne**_'."

" Right—Zayne."

I slipped into the car and slid over to the far side of the backseat so that I was behind Sheriff. Then I rolled down the window so that it wouldn't be as hot in the car and leaned against the door panel, despite how hot it was on my bare arm. I wanted to be as far away from this jerk as possible.

Not seeming to notice, Doc sat down in the seat and slammed the door behind him. He too rolled down his window. Good—I wasn't in the mood for talking and this way it'd be too loud for conversation.

Sheriff backed out of the parking space and began to drive out of the parking lot.

With a sigh, I slouched down in the hot leather seat and tried to ignore the fact that I was in the back of a cop car (even if I wasn't in trouble it still made me nervous). It was going to be a _**long**_ trip.


	4. Welcome to Radiator Springs

** Sorry it took me so long to update again guys. Life and five other fanfics tend to have a nasty habit of getting in the way. That and writer's block. So sorry if I get a little wordy here in this chapter. Since it's humanized I was kinda trying to lay out the canon characters for my own mind's eye to see how they worked and everything. Hope I did okay. And I also hope I didn't make Zayne sound to bratty and Doc sound too much like a jerk. It's kinda killing me to make it so that he's not just like the protective, loving daddy right away because I want to write him in that way soooooo badly! But we're gonna have a little while to wait before we get to that.**

** CarsCars2Fanatic—I'm so glad you enjoy this, and your comment did help to make me feel a little bit better that day. Thank you. :)**

** TwilitWolfGirl56—I'm glad you enjoy this too. I hope you like this chapter even better.**

** I, unfortunately, do not own Cars. I only own my OC and any other character you might not recognize. Any resemblance of persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and THIS DOES NOT REFLECT MY LIFE IN ANYWAY POSSIBLE. I have a really good life with loving parents and family members whom I love to death in return. Set ups like these just always seem to make for better stories. XD**

* * *

" Come on over. Come on in! Pull up a seat-take a load off your feet. Come on over. Come on in! You can unwind-take a load off your mind…" Shania Twain; _Come on Over_

3

Welcome to Radiator Springs

After a nearly three hour long drive, Sheriff finally turned off the interstate and onto a long winding dirt road. After almost another hour of traveling it, we finally past a big billboard sign that said 'Welcome to Radiator Springs Gateway to Ornament Valley' on it. I snorted. If Doc's attitude towards me was any indication, somehow I didn't get the feeling that I'd be as "welcome" as the sign so chipperly put it. A few minutes later, we were pulling into the town and I couldn't help myself as I stared in amazement. I'd never seen a town so small! It was like 'blink-and-you-miss-it' small! A lot of the buildings looked ancient, most dilapidated, some practically already collapsed to the ground. The buildings that were up and running were rather cute, I had to admit, and I tried to identify them as we drove past.

The first thing we drove by was what looked like a car garage with a junkyard behind it and a sign in the shape of a tow truck in front that read 'Tow Mater: Towing, Salvage, and Garage' with a small welcome sign below it that was made out of an old muffler. Beside and a little bit behind the garage, there was a small trailer house. As a nice little accentuating touch, there were several different types of hubcaps decorating the house.

The building across from the garage I can sum up in one word: psychedelic. Both looked like big igloos and were painted with peace signs and flowers and crazy patterns in all different colors of the rainbow. They were attached together by a little section. One part of the buildings looked like a house. The other looked like a garage that housed a whole bunch of fuel barrels, all painted in assorted colors and out in front of it was a sole gas pump. The sign in front of this place read 'Fillmore's Organic Fuel'.

Right next to the organic fuel place was a big metal building that looked like a warehouse. I didn't see any type of structure that looked like a house, so I guessed that the owner either had some sort of section in the building that served as his living quarters, or else it was hidden behind. There was a white fence around this place, separating it from the buildings on both sides of it, and large rocks lined the sidewalk out front. In the green yard was a tall flag pole, proudly bearing Old Glory at the top. The sign on the building looked like a cannon shooting off a cannonball and had an Army star and stripes that read 'Sarge's Surplus Hut'.

Directly across from the hut was a motel; the Cozy Cone Motel as the sign said. The motel consisted of a main office, and strategically placed around it were about five or six the rooms, all of them designed to look like traffic cones. I got a kick out of that.

Across the from motel and next to the hut was the hospital and right next to the hospital was a small one story house painted white with green shingles. I guessed that that was were Doc worked and lived. More so, that's where I was going to be staying. I looked the house over, inspecting it closely. " _Well, all things considered it's not too bad,_" I thought to myself with a shrug. I'd be comfortable enough I expected.

Sheriff pulled over right in front of the house and we all got out of the car. With a groan, I stretched. After flying several hundred miles and then riding in a car for three more hours, it felt good to stretch out my muscles. When I was done stretching, I went to the back of the car to join the three men as the congregated there. Sheriff opened the trunk and Doc reached in a hoisted up my suitcase.

I took a spot beside Detective Simmons because I knew him best.

" Now the cover story," Sheriff announced as he slammed the trunk shut again and turned to face us. His eyes fell on me and he gestured towards me. " I know that we can trust 'em with anythin', but for safety's sake, we can't let any of the townspeople know the real reason she's here or who she really is."

I took a slight step back, a bit miffed. " Wait, are you saying I gotta change my name?"

" No," Detective Simmons assured me, " just the reason you're here."

" Well, it wouldn't hurt if she didn't use her last name," Sheriff put in. " There's not exactly a lot of Zayne Plummers around I'm sure."

" So what's it gonna be then?" Doc asked, setting my bag down on the ground.

" It's gotta be something simple," Detective Clark pointed out. " Something unassuming so that nobody'd look twice at it."

Sheriff suddenly snapped his fingers, his eyes lighting up. " I got it!" he announced and turned to point at Doc. " She'll be your niece."

" What?" Doc and I both replied at the same time. Surprised, I looked up at Doc only to see that he too was looking at me with just as much surprise on his face. Crossing my arms, I rested all my weight on my left leg and looked at the ground.

Doc looked back to Sheriff. " My niece?" he questioned with a cocked eyebrow. " Sheriff, I ain't got any brothers or sisters to get a niece from."

" I know that and you know that," Sheriff admitted with a grin, " but the other folks don't know that."

" Won't they get suspicious anyway, considering I never talk about my family or that they never visit?"

" We'll tell 'em she's the daughter of your long-lost brother. You two didn't get along or somethin' and that's why you never talk to or about him and his family never visits."

" So if she was my brother's kid, her last name'd be 'Hudson'."

Sheriff nodded.

Doc took on a contemplative look. " Hmm... Zayne Hudson... Well, it does have a certain ring to it, I'll give ya that."

It did have a nice ring to it, I had to agree. In fact, I rather liked the sound of it. For some reason it made me feel like I actually belonged somewhere and to an actual person, instead of a practically implied guy Heather had jumped beds with in Jr. High. But one thing still confused me. " How do I fit in in this?" I asked, looking back up at the conspiring men. " I mean, even if I'm his niece, why am I here?"

" You've been having some trouble at home," Detective Simmons suggested.

" What kind of trouble?" I asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

" You're parents are fighting—getting a divorce," Simmons answered. " And you've been getting into some trouble with the law."

" Whoa, hey, no!" I shrieked, backing away and glaring at him. " I'm not a criminal! I've never done anything to be considered a vagrant. Well... okay, that's not technically true; there was the one time Heather tried to have me shoplift something for her, but that was when I was, like, six, and I didn't get charged with anything since my mother was the one who made me do it. Point made: I'm no felon."

" Yeah," Doc agreed with a nod. " And what makes you think I'd want a delinquent for a niece, let alone have one stay with me?"

I fell silent and stared at Doc, a look of annoyance shadowing my face. Did he seriously just pull the 'how-would-that-make-me-look?' routine? Of all the nerve! I turned back to Detective Simmons with a smirking grin. " Ya know, on second thought," I said, " I like the delinquent angle. Let's go for it!" I looked back at Doc to see that he was giving me a hard look. I just grinned smugly back at him.

* * *

A few hours later Doc and I were walking out of his house after I'd unpacked all of my things and checked out my room (I was staying in the guest bedroom) and were heading just down the street to what Doc called Flo's V8 Cafe. Much to my dismay, Detective Simmons had left about three hours earlier, spending about an hour and a half visiting the townspeople here and catching up with them before heading back to catch the next flight to New York. So I was all alone with these strangers. Joy.

Doc walked ahead and I stay a couple feet behind. Neither of us talked, and, not so surprisingly, the silence felt awkward and even a bit tense. He didn't want me here, I could feel it. Who could blame him? What person in their right mind wanted a strange, hard-luck twelve-year-old in the witness protection program to stay with them for an uncertain amount of time; sleeping in their house; eating their food; watching their television? Rhetorical question—no one.

As for me, other than the fact of who I was staying with, it didn't really matter where I was. As long as I was far enough away from Meth-head to be comfortable and had a roof over my head that actually had electricity and running water (Heather's and my apartment didn't have either of those elements) I'd be fine. And believe it or not, the fact of Doc not wanting me around didn't bother me either. Over the years, I'd become accustomed to people not wanting me around and leaving me behind or ignoring me completely. I'd mastered the art of non-existence.

Finally we were in front of the V8 cafe and walking past the rows of gas-pumps up to the doors. Right before we went in, Doc stopped and turned to look at me. " So let's go over the cover story again," he said.

" Because we haven't gone over it a zillion times already?" I commented snappishly.

" Humor me, kid."

I shot him a glare. " For the last time, my name is not 'kid', it's '_**Zayne**_'!"

He glared right back. " Just give me the story."

" I'll only tell it to you if you call me by my name."

Rolling his eyes, Doc mumbled something under his breath that I'm sure wasn't very complimentary towards me. Then he finally caved. " All right, all right. Please tell me the story, Zayne. There, ya happy?"

I grinned impishly at him. " Thank you." Then I cleared my throat and began to retell the cover story. " I'm Zayne Hudson, daughter of Doug Hudson your brother who you haven't seen in nearly two decades, and your niece. I'm here because my parents are having marital troubles and I've been getting in trouble at school and with the law and because you feel that it's your duty to try and make it up to my dad for not being a better brother and for not being there for me all those years."

" I don't remember anything about the 'not being a better brother' part or the 'not being there for you' part in the original plan," the man declared with a shake of his head, looking a little confused and nervous at the concept of maybe forgetting something.

" Oh, it wasn't," I assured him with a devilish smile. " No, see, I just thought I'd add that in right now to add a little more color to the whole thing. Besides, it just seems so... so _**you**_."

Doc's mystified expression quickly morphed into a scowl, though I wasn't quite sure what he was scowling at: the fact that I was being snippy or the fact that he'd just been burned by a twelve-year-old girl. My money was on the first option, but I was still hoping for the second. Then Doc started to slightly nod his head. " Oh, yeah, you're funny," he commented softly, voice dripping with sarcasm. " Oh, yeah, you're really funny. You're just hilarious, is that what you think?"

My grin grew even bigger and I couldn't help the slight self-satisfied giggle that escaped me. " Yup," I nodded.

" You just remember whose house you're stayin' in, kiddo." He turned back around and continued on towards the doors, pushing them open. " I know where you sleep," he added back over his shoulder.

I rolled my eyes and followed him. " 'Cuz that's not creeperish at all," I commented, arms crossed over my chest. " And how many times do I hafta tell you? It's 'Zayne'." I stepped through the door into the cafe and the next thing I knew I was being jumped on. Well, okay, not like literally jumped on, but someone was right there in a flash, hovering around me. A man in overalls and a brown t-shirt with buck teeth, hazel eyes, slightly red skin, and a mullet was all but sniffing around me like a dog. I unconsciously stepped a little bit closer to Doc for safety.

" Hey, Doc, who dis?" the guy asked in twangy country accent.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I was still too much in shock to say anything.

Doc came to my aid. " This is Zayne Hudson, Mater," he answered calmly.

Mater? Ah, so this must have been the guy who owned that garage at the edge of town!

" Shoot, she got yer las' name, Doc!" Mater exclaimed, looking at me with his bright, friendly eyes.

" That's 'cuz she's my brother's daughter," Doc replied.

Mater suddenly looked up at Doc with a quizzical expression. " Ah di'nt know you had a brother," he remarked.

" We... haven't talked in a long time," Doc responded hesitantly.

The answer seemed to be good enough for Mater, because he just looked back down at me with a toothy, friendly grin. " So den, dis here's yer niece."

I couldn't help but smile. This guy was nice. Not the sharpest tool in the shed maybe—maybe not really even in the shed—and maybe a bit over-excitable, but nice. I liked him already, which was actually kind of weird because I rarely ever took to people that fast. I held my hand out. " Nice to meet ya, Mater," I chirped.

The mechanic took my hand in his strong, warm grip and shook it vigorously. He shook my hand so vigorously in fact, that he pulled up onto one foot and nearly made me bounce up and down on that foot. " Well, howdy dere, Miss Zayne!" he exclaimed. He then turned and began hauling me along with him. " Come on! Let's go introduce ya to duh others."

" Um, Mater, I, uh..." I glanced back over my shoulder at Doc, only to see him standing there and grinning from ear to ear at my predicament. I quickly stuck my tongue out at him, then concentrated at staying upright as I stumbled along after Mater. Before I knew it, I was in a crowd of people. I felt my shyness began to rise up again, and, like always, I tried to hide it.

" Miss Zayne," Mater said, " Ah'd lahke ya ta meet Flo, Ramone, Miss Sally, Lizzie, Guido, Luigi, Sarge, Fillmore, and Red." He pointed to each of the people as he said their names. " Ever'body, dis here is Miss Zayne. She's Doc's niece."

" Well, howdy, sweet-pea," the woman that Mater had said was Flo greeted me. Just like Mater, I liked Flo almost. She was a pretty woman somewhere in her late-forties, early-fifties with thick, curly black hair that was just starting to show signs of silver that she kept pinned back in a messy bun, though some of the smaller strands were straggling out around her hairline. She was a big woman—not fat, but just big boned and muscled—with an even bigger, pearly-white smile which was as, if not more, friendly as Mater's. She had almond-shaped, pretty green eyes and dimples when she smiled. She wore an open shouldered mint-green blouse and jeans that were rolled up to about the middle of her shin with white sneakers and an apron. A pencil was tucked behind her ear to complete the cafe owner look.

" Hi," I responded. " Nice to meet you."

" Well aren't you just the sweetest little thing?" Flo crooned in her southern accent with a beaming smile. " Are ya hungry, sugar? Can I get ya anythin' to eat?"

" Uh, I don't really need anything," I started to decline the offer, but then I saw some big homemade monster cookies being displayed in a case on the counter. And they were chocolate chip—my favorite! My stomach got the better of me. " Could... could I possibly have one of those?" I asked, pointing at the cookies.

Flo looked from me to the cookies and back, still beaming that warm smile. " Of course you can, sweetheart. Tell ya what, you sit down right there next to my husband and I'll get ya a cookie and even give ya a nice big glass of milk to wash it down with." And with that said, she went behind the counter and disappeared into the kitchen to do just that.

Smiling after her, I walked over and timidly took my seat beside Ramone.

" So, you're Doc's niece?" the guy Mater had identified as Sarge asked me. He was somewhere in his seventies (and looking good for his age!) with a flat-top of gray hair, clean-shaven face, brown eyes, and was dressed in some sort of military type uniform. Sarge looked rough and tough, but I was willing to bet he was just a big, old softie.

I nodded my head in answer his question.

" I didn't know Doc had family," Ramone responded, looking and sounding surprised. Like his wife, Ramone was somewhere in his forties or fifties. He wasn't very tall, maybe only a couple inches taller than Flo who was maybe 5'5, and slim but still somewhat muscular. The man had dark black hair that was cropped close to his head, green-blue eyes, a small mustache, and lots of tattoos going up his arms (there was one on his chest that I particularly liked: it was a flaming heart with a banner wrapped around it that read 'Flo'—aww! :3). He was dressed in black men's tank-top, faded jeans, and basketball style shoes.

" Yeah," I replied, " him and my dad... they, uh—ahem—they don't talk much."

" How come?" the guy Fillmore asked, arching bushy eyebrows at me. Extreme hippie style! Fillmore was in his sixties, had dreadlocks, brown eyes, and a goatee. He wore one of those loose fitting, billowy, tie-dye hippie shirts that was low-cut (it's really weird using that term for a guy's shirt!), exposing a hairy chest and lots of strings of colorful beads and a metal peace symbol, flare-bottom jeans with something like a velvet belt, and sandals (I think I saw a couple toe rings). To complete the look he also wore a tie-dye bandana around his head and those round-rimmed glasses with the colorful lenses.

I shrugged. " Search me," I answered. " Some sorta fight they had a long time ago; somethin' about Doc not being a good brother and what not, I dunno."

" So then why are you here, honey?" Sally asked me. She was the youngest of all the townspeople; definitely in her early-, mid-twenties. She was pretty, had blonde hair that was cut into a bob, green eyes, a nice smile, sun-kissed skin with a sprinkle of freckles over her cheeks and nose, was slim and fit, and perfectly proportionate. She was dressed in low-rise jeans, knee-high brown boots with a heel, and simple, lavender, v-cut t-shirt.

" My parents are having marital troubles," I recited the cover-up, " and... I've been having some issues at school... as well as with the law." I managed to put enough shame in my tone to make it realistic.

" What-a kind of-a trouble-a?" the little Italian guy named Luigi asked me. Luigi was about my height and was in probably his thirties. He had golden-brown eyes and and had black hair perfectly styled on the top of his head and a mustache (wow, a lot of the guys had mustaches—**MUSTACHE CONVENTION!**). The little man was decked out in a pale yellow polo shirt with a plaid sweater-vest over the top, khakis, loafers, and a beret type hate.

I smirked at him. " That's for me to know," I replied, wagging a finger in his direction, " and you never to find out."

The younger guy sitting next to him with shaggy dirty-blonde hair and light brown eyes that was dressed in almost the same attire except minus the beret and sweater-vest and in a powder blue polo, laughed and began rattling something off in Italian. At least I _**thought**_ it was Italian. I wasn't exactly sure, but since Luigi was Italian and Mater had introduced them together, it was a safe bet that they were buddies and business partners from Italy.

Luigi laughed and turned back to me. " Guido," he chuckled, " he-a like-a yo' spunk. Says you-a remind-a him of-a a girl-a he met-a in Italia. A spit-a-fire she was, much-a like you."

I laughed and turned to Guido, giving him a little bow. " Well, thank you, Guido," I giggled.

Guido bowed his head and said something in Italian.

It was then that Flo came back out of the kitchen with my glass of milk and monster cookie in her possession. She set both down in front of me and I thanked her before breaking off a piece of the cookie and dunking it in the mouth. I popped the treat into my mouth and nearly moaned at the taste. So delicious!

Suddenly, Sally stood up, her glass of rootbeer in her hand, and looked around the cafe. " Excuse me, everyone," she called, " may I have your attention please?"

Everyone became quiet and looked up at her.

Having gotten their attention, Sally grinned down at me. " Today, we welcome a new member into our little community and our family—Zayne Hudson, the niece of our own Doc Hudson." She motioned to Doc and nodded at him and he in turn nodded back. " I think this kind of occasion calls for a toast. So, without further ado, welcome to Radiator Springs, Zayne." She raised her glass in a toast. " To Zayne!"

" To Zayne!" the other all chorused, lifting up their glasses as well whether they were empty for full.

I couldn't help but sit there and grin from ear to ear. That previous thought about the town not being nice based on my first impression of my host was quickly wiped away. I'd never been so wrong before. Radiator Springs really was the nicest little town that ever existed, and I really was welcome here. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

* * *

**Also, guys, I'd like to ask you something. I'm thinking about giving Flo and Ramone a kid so that there's another kid in Radiator Springs that Zayne can befriend so maybe she won't be so lonely and bored. It'd be a girl around Zayne's age, maybe a year or two older, and I'm thinking about naming her 'Caydence' (not after DancingKitKat's character, even though I've read her stories and Kelly is totally awesome!). Yes? No? Voldshtien (Seinfeld reference)? Whaddya think? **

** Oh, and also, just another quick question—does anybody know if Ramone is supposed to be Latino? I wasn't entirely sure whether to describe him as Latino or not in this chapter. Not that it matters, it's just I'd kinda fine it interesting to know. **


End file.
